Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.
Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.
A/N: B, bewilderment. B.J.'s POV. Picks up right before Hawk tells B.J., and then actually reveals what it is, although you can guess from my disclaimer.
Bewilderment
I don't know what to do about Jacobs. I know I missed a bleeder, but it's too dangerous to go back in until his infection clears up. If it doesn't clear up in a few days, I'll have to go back in, and he could die.
It's at moments like this when I wish I'd become a lawyer instead. Or a professional basketball player. At the moment, all I'm becoming is intoxicated, and that never helps.
It's nearing seven now, and Hawkeye hasn't said much, just listened to me rant about Jacobs. Suddenly he clears his throat, and I fall silent, waiting to hear what he's going to say.
"Um, Beej?" he begins hesitantly, and I frown. Hawkeye doesn't hesitate; Hawkeye jumps in and usually ends up over his head.
"What?" I reply, a second later.
He shuffles his feet, hesitates some more, then says, "I um, I should tell you something."
"Go on," I say, my curiosity awakening.
"I, uh…well, I uh…I'm pretty sure that I'm…." He drags the word out, making a simple contraction last for five seconds instead of one.
"You're…?" I reply, dragging the word out in a mimic of him.
"Um, homosexual," he mumbles.
I freeze. This is so wrong, it goes against nature. Not homosexuality in itself, but Hawkeye being homosexual. Hawkeye is the lady-killer, the seducer and is self-proclaimed to be sex itself.
This bewildering, tiring day is only going to become more so, I sense.
Hawkeye looks stunned, then turns and walks quickly away. I realize that I don't know what my facial expression was like, and Hawkeye probably thinks I hate him.
"Hawk, wait a minute!" I say, desperately, but he ignores me and breaks into a jog as he disappears into the twilight. He's probably headed for Rosie's.
"Damn it," I say to myself, and drop to my bunk. I take another sip of gin, and then sigh. When Hawkeye comes back, I'll tell him that I don't hate him. Maybe I'll tell him more, about how I feel now. Even if he's drunk and won't remember any of it anyway, I have to let him know that I don't hate him.
I've been sitting for perhaps half an hour when I hear the sound of someone running. The door to the Swamp is flung open as Klinger skids to a stop. "B.J.," he pants. "Major Houlihan told me to get you real quick. That kid, Jacobs, his temperature has gone up to a hundred and six, and she says you should take a look."
"Damn it," I say again, for the second time this evening. "All right, I'll be right there."
I toss back the last of the gin in my glass, then stand and head over to post-op. I may have to go in again, despite the danger, because it'll be more dangerous not to.